St. Paul daily globe., 1887-10-23

tHe5 HdNc ulScdTueu lOHS dSo tHc
variety show and go in their own car
the grandeSt flights of the queens of
song bring nothing like the recollectionS
of old times which this song does to the
old rounder. He applaudS until his
hands are sore, and she comes out again
and ShriekS out the strains of ''White
Wings" that never grow weary, and
are carrying her cheerily over the sea,
but Old ROunder is being carried back
into the olden time, and is aroused from
his revery by the silence which indi-
Gates the lapse before the next s'turn'
on the programme.
Can Old Time have turned back in his
flight and made him youth again, just
for this night? 1t would seem so, for
there are the two Irishmen he saw on
tbs stage the first time he played
hockey, to take in the matinee on money
obtained from his mother under the
false pretense that he had to buy copy
books. There are the same plug hats,
brushed the wrong way. surmeunting
the same terrier mugs" framed in the
Scrubby brick-dust whiskers, the same
Irish dialect that was never spoken in
any part of Ireland or any place on
earth except on the variety stage; the
identical high-water pants, the Identical
shillalahs. After they have black
guarded each other and beaten each
other and raised Cain, he waits for cor
roboration of his eyesight by his hear
ing. Here it is:
''Pat, phat'S good for rats?''
'Phat's good for rats? Mike. pison'S
good for rats
Yer a liyer,it's not good for 'em; it'll
kill EN-"
Boom, boom, boom goes the big base
drum, and the fiddles screech in agony
at the joke-thiS old, hoary, paleOZoic,
joke. Then these refined Irish come
dians quote the play billS-Quarrel.
and they spit in each others faces and
do other refined humorous things which
amuSe the audience, and then they sing
one of the songs of their own compost
ton. 1t runs thuSly:
We came not long ago,
AS one and all must know.
From that dear old little isle across the say
The land you know it well,
Old Ireland we must tell:
We sing and dance both every night and day.
Each succeeding verse is of higher
order of poetic genius, until the culmi-
nation is reached in the last by the most
remarkable rhymes the language can be
contorted into. These comedians are
always in their song going right back to
Ireland after they have accomplished
the purpose of their long voyage over
the ''say"-namely, TO sing and dance
for the populace. They were going
back years ago, but they haven't gone.
Like more celebrated, but certainly not
more pretentiOus members of the pro-
fessiOn, they never make their farewell
appearance. They have three songs and
five jokes to work Off every night, and
they work them off. When they disrobe
they go out to the nearest beer saloon
in the neighbOrhOod and tell how they
gave Ed Harrigan all his best gags and
''moSt O. de biZneSS," talk of Barrett as
Larry and of the Anderson as Mary.
and of Mccullough OF Raymond as poor
john" and impress themselves upon
some poor dude, who pays foEtheir beer.
just as the old rounder did for them
under the same circumstances, when he
was young and giddy.
When they have disappeared from the
stage, and the dust they have raised has
settled, their places are taken by an
other familiar figure, a gentleman in
full dress, with a very dirty shirt and a
copious flow Of polysyll!ables,, from the
pouring out of which it is gathered that
he is a musician, and he has advertised
for competent assistant for a public
performance. There is a ring at the
bell. and then the door Of the room
opens and in walks very dilapidated
negro. He hangs his hat on the wall
where there isn't nail, so it drops on
the floor, and he still has little toy hat
over his eye, which hat is attached to
his head by rubber band. so that he
can pull it off and let it fly back. He
has pair of pantaloons reaching up to
his chin. His coat is ripped up the
back. He has valise which is empty,
and stuffed bulldog and an umbrella.
Everybody knows what's going